Chapter 2
Laura
The truth burned in my throat—every night before bed, every morning when I woke up. Sometimes twice in the morning if I had time before class. But the words wouldn’t come. My throat closed up, my face burning so hot I thought I might actually pass out.
“I’m not answering that,” I managed to choke out.
Nurse Samuels didn’t look surprised. She didn’t even look annoyed. Instead, a small, knowing smile curved her lips as she made a note on her tablet.
“Thank you,” she said.
I blinked. “What?”
“Your refusal to answer told me exactly what I needed to know.” She turned the tablet toward me, showing me a graph with colored lines spiking across the screen.
“See these biometric readings? We’ve been monitoring your heart rate, skin temperature, pupil dilation, and several other markers since you entered this room.
When I asked that question, your body gave me a very clear answer even if your mouth didn’t. ”
My stomach dropped. “You can’t… that’s not…”
“The spike in your stress response, combined with the specific pattern of your physiological reactions, indicates habitual behavior you’re deeply ashamed of.
The data suggests you masturbate at least twice daily—quite likely more.
Morning and evening, the algorithm predicts, based on the way your eyes moved when I asked the question. ”
I wanted to argue, to deny it, but my voice had completely abandoned me. How could they know that? How could they possibly know?
“Don’t look so shocked, Laura. This is what Selecta does. We read bodies better than most people read books.” She set the tablet down and stepped closer, her sharp eyes never leaving my face. “Now, let’s move on to the physical examination. Up on the table, please. On your back.”
My legs felt like jelly as I approached the exam table. The stirrups gleamed under the harsh lights, and I couldn’t stop staring at the webbing restraints attached to various points along the padded surface.
“Are you… I mean, do I have to…” I gestured weakly at the restraints.
“Not to start with, at least. Though given your resistance so far, we may need them before we’re through.” She glanced at her tablet, then patted the table. “Up you go. The system thinks there’s only a twenty percent chance we’ll need to restrain you.”
I climbed onto the table, the vinyl cool against my bare skin. I lay back, my whole body trembling, my arms instinctively moving to cover myself again.
“Arms at your sides,” Nurse Samuels commanded.
I forced my arms down, my hands gripping the edges of the table so hard my knuckles went white. I stared at the ceiling, trying to pretend I was anywhere else.
Her hands were cool and efficient as she began the examination, palpating my breasts with professional, practiced movements. I bit my lip, willing myself not to react, not to give her any more data to analyze and dissect.
“Responsive,” she murmured, making another note. “Very responsive.”
My face burned hotter. I could feel my nipples hardening under her touch, betraying me completely.
“No.” I jerked my shoulders, trying to twist away from her touch. “Don’t—”
“Hold still.” Her voice sharpened.
But I couldn’t. The sensation of my nipples tightening into hard peaks under her clinical manipulation sent a wave of shame and something else—something worse—through my body. I squirmed on the table, my hips shifting, my legs pressing together.
“I said hold still.” Nurse Samuels stepped back, her expression hardening. “Hank!”
The door opened almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting just outside. The massive orderly filled the doorway, his eyes sweeping over my naked, trembling form with that same flicker of judgment I’d seen before.
“Restraints,” Nurse Samuels said crisply. “The system’s probability assessment was too generous.”
“No!” I tried to sit up, but Hank’s large hand pressed firmly against my sternum, pushing me back down onto the table. “Please, I’ll be good, I’ll hold still—”
“Too late for that.” Nurse Samuels moved to the side of the table, pulling out yet another wide webbing strap—one I hadn’t noticed before. “You had your chance to cooperate.”
Hank worked with efficient precision, his movements practiced and sure.
The new strap went around my waist first, cinching tight enough that I couldn’t lift my torso.
Then another around my neck—not choking, but firm enough that I couldn’t turn my head more than an inch in either direction.
My wrists were next, pulled down and secured to the sides of the table.
Then, to my horror, he raised the stirrups, and I saw that they, too, had been fitted with restraints.
I struggled involuntarily as the orderly dispassionately spread my knees wide and set them in the metal grasp of the horrid things, then fastened the straps around my lower thighs, just above my knees, spreading me so wide that I gasped at the feeling of the cool air on my most intimate places.
I was completely immobilized. Completely exposed. My breath came in short, panicked hiccups.
“That’s better.” Nurse Samuels nodded at Hank, who stepped back but didn’t leave the room. She moved to stand beside the table where I could see her clearly, her eyes boring into mine. “Now, Laura, I think we need to have a frank discussion about the waiver you signed.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. The waiver. The pages and pages of legal text I’d scrolled past without reading.
“The waiver grants Selecta Arrangements officials—that includes me—the authority to administer corporal punishment as we deem necessary during your evaluation and training. That means if you’re uncooperative, if you resist, if you fail to follow instructions…
” She paused, letting the words sink in.
“I am legally authorized to spank you. Or even to whip you.”
The words hit me like ice water. “What? No, that can’t—”
“It’s all there in the document you agreed to. Just as your future sponsor will have the right—the contractual right—to subject you to traditional bare-bottom discipline whenever he judges you’ve been naughty or disobedient.”
The words should have filled me with outrage. Horror. The urge to demand my release and storm out of this place. Instead, what flooded through my body was a wave of heat so intense I thought I might combust right there on the exam table.
No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t be getting aroused by the idea of being spanked. Of being punished. Of having some wealthy stranger bend me over his knee and—
“Oh my,” Nurse Samuels said softly, her eyes on her tablet. “Well, that’s quite conclusive.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, but I couldn’t hide from the truth written in whatever biometric data she was reading.
My body had betrayed me completely. The thought of being disciplined, of being put over someone’s knee for a bare-bottom spanking when I was naughty—god, why did that word make everything worse?
—sent pulses of shameful heat straight to the needy place between my legs.
“I should mention,” the nurse continued, her voice taking on a conversational tone that somehow made everything more mortifying, “that this examination is being recorded on video. Platinum-level sponsors—the wealthiest tier—will have access to your complete file, including this footage.”
My eyes flew open. “What?”
“They’ll want to see how you respond to authority. How your body reacts to correction. And Laura?” She leaned in slightly. “I think you should expect that prospective sponsors will notice very clearly that you need a firm hand.”
The humiliation of knowing that strange men—wealthy, powerful men—would watch this recording made my stomach clench. But beneath the shame, that traitorous heat only intensified. What the hell was wrong with me?
Nurse Samuels moved to a cabinet and returned with what looked like hair clippers. “I’ll continue with your exam now. I’m going to shave your privates. It will help with the exam, and it’s something your sponsor will almost certainly appreciate.”
My face went hot as I pictured it—the bareness, the smoothness, the vulnerability.
I bit my lip so as not to cry out, determined not to give the nurse the satisfaction of denying my useless protest. The clippers buzzed to life, and I felt their vibration against my mound.
I couldn’t see what she was doing—the restraint around my neck kept my head immobilized—but I felt the tickle of trimmed hair falling away.
She worked methodically, reducing my light brown thatch to stubble.
“Selecta Arrangements fully subsidizes aesthetician visits for associate members,” Nurse Samuels said conversationally. “Your sponsor will probably instruct you to have one weekly to keep yourself tidy for him.”
I chewed my lip, feeling tears of mortification prick at the corners of my eyes.
After the clippers came warm lather and a razor.
The scrape of the blade against my sensitive skin made me hold my breath.
She shaved everything—my pussy lips, the area around them, even further back toward my bottom.
The professional efficiency of it didn’t make it any less intimate. Any less revealing.
“There we are. Much better.” She set aside the razor and wiped away the remaining lather with a warm cloth. “Now for the sensor installation.”
“Sensor?” My voice came out strangled.
“A perineal sensor. It’s microscopic—you won’t feel it after the initial placement.
It monitors your sexual response patterns even more accurately than the sensor suite in this room—and the one in your new apartment.
” She pulled on fresh gloves and picked up what looked like a tiny applicator: a plastic stick with some sort of pad at the end.
“This will allow your sponsor to track your arousal levels remotely, even when you’re not at home. ”
I felt a little pressure between my vagina and my anus. A brief sting followed, then a strange warmth spreading through that intimate area. The sensation made me gasp, my hips jerking involuntarily against the restraints.
“There we are. All installed.” Nurse Samuels stepped back, studying her tablet with evident satisfaction, then glancing up to survey my lower body. “Oh my. Laura, you’re absolutely drenched. You’re very aroused—it’s quite visible.”
My face burned with humiliation. I couldn’t see what she was looking at, but I could feel it—the slickness between my legs, the throbbing heat that had been building despite every effort to suppress it.
“I need to document your hymen for the premium placement file,” she said, setting down the tablet. “This will be uncomfortable, but try to hold still.”
I felt her gloved fingers at the entrance to my vagina, gently spreading my outer lips.
The feeling of exposure was so strong that I had to grunt to suppress the mortifying whimper that threatened to rise from my throat.
The fingers moved further, as the nurse used them to open me even more widely, and I heard the simulated click of a camera.
“You’re quite tight,” she observed clinically. “Your sponsor will be informed that you’ll experience significant discomfort when his penis enters you for the first time. The initial penetration will be painful, and you’ll likely find sex uncomfortable for the first few times after that as well.”
Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. The casual way she discussed my future defloration—like she was describing a routine medical procedure—made everything feel horribly real.
“Of course,” Nurse Samuels continued, her fingers still holding me open, “given how beautiful you are and how desperately needy your body clearly is, I’m quite sure your sponsor will use your vagina frequently.
You’ll loosen up before long. Sponsors do prize tight vaginas, though, so you can expect him to be quite demanding during your first few weeks together. ”
She released me finally, and I heard her moving around, opening drawers. When she returned, she held what I recognized as a metal speculum.
“This is for your anal examination,” she said matter-of-factly. “I need to assess your suitability for sexual training there.”
“No!” The word burst from me. “Please, you can’t—”
“Laura, you should understand very clearly that your sponsor will expect to train you anally, and to have intercourse there. Your bottom will be penetrated by his penis regularly—probably several times per week at minimum. Many sponsors employ anal sex as a form of discipline as well as simply for variety. I need to evaluate how much preliminary stretching you’ll require before your sponsor can have sex with you there as frequently as he chooses. ”
The cool metal touched my anus, and I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my throat. She worked it in slowly, and I felt the horrible pressure of being opened in a place made for a very different function. The speculum clicked, spreading me wider.
“Quite small,” she murmured. “Your sponsor will definitely need to take his time with your initial anal training. But the muscle tone is good. You’ll accommodate him, with proper preparation.”